


DC5: Fragile

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Fragile: Destiny has returned them to Wichita and they are about to get a lesson in fate, neither one of them wanted.Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC5: Fragile

“Fragile”

 

Stepping from the train, Heyes rubbed at the scrabble of shadow darkening his jaw, “I can’t believe we’re back.”

“Could be worse.”

The dimple appeared, but the smile accompanying it was not friendly, and with a shake of his head, Heyes strode briskly across the depot platform. Weaving through the other weary, returning travelers, he hit the station’s side door with an open palm and slammed up against the red wooden door.

Behind him, he heard a choked laugh “appears to be locked.”

When he drew back, he was wearing a sharp smile that was even less friendly than the earlier one, “thanks for the insight.”  

Shrugging, Curry jigged a thumb toward the front; where most of the other passengers were milling and mewing about.

Hitching his holster, his shoulders crowding up about his ears Heyes marched that way; ignoring the playful glint sparking across his cousin’s face, which flared into a full blown smile at the shuttered windows and a sign leaning against the station house’s front doors.

_Whatever you want to ask._

_We have no answer._

_Come back tomorrow._

**** “We could stay ‘till Sunday.”

Squinted brown eyes slanted Curry’s direction, “we’re not staying ‘till Sunday. I have plans!”

Leaning closer, Curry muttered, “You could change ‘em.”

Heyes coolly appraised his partner and then he was moving again. Trotting down the steps, he paused at the street corner. He felt gaunt, smelled of stale sweat, and the skin across his shoulders pulled tight as he looked east and west at the lights of Wichita. ‘We shouldn’t be here. Can’t put it into words for Kid; just know we shouldn’t be here.’  

“Let’s get a room and see about dinner.”

Exhaling heavily, Heyes fell into step behind his partner, their boots clumping hollowly on the boardwalk, as they headed for the Delano district.

By the time, they exited the Drover Hotel’s dining room the carnival that was Wichita’s night, was in full swing. Brass bands were competitively whooping it up, hack drivers yelling, side show blowhards calling for attention, dogs yelping, and of course, all the saloon doors were braced open; with gaily attired prairie nymphs dangling from their porches. Over all of it was the constant call of Keno numbers issuing from the gambling halls.

The bath, shave, change of clothes and full stomach had cured some of Heyes’ irritation. Now, strolling amidst various men of the town, Texas cowboys, Mexican ranchman, Union soldiers, and even a few blanket wrapped Indians, he felt more at ease, and was enjoying the sights and sounds of the wild debauchery to be had.

A peacock green gloved hand landed upon Curry’s shoulder, “Why, Sugar, holds up.”

Looking over, he smiled at the well-rouged blonde batting her eyes at him, thinking, ‘not on my life, your old enough to be my Mother.’ But, keeping his thoughts to himself, Curry merely touched a finger to his hat brim and kept moving.

“Don’t be that way, Sugar. I could share secrets with you, you ain’t never thought of.”

Heyes half-turned at her words, wearing his wide, charmingly dimpled smile.

“Well, my, my. That offer goes double for you, Darling.” She chortled, opening her wrapper, revealing her ample, milky white breasts.

Swallowing hard, Heyes hastened his step, following his partner as he ducked around the corner.

A few doors down, they edged into a brightly lit dance hall and Curry elbowed Heyes, pointing to the bartender. “Look, its Joe from the Dove race.”

“You can’t seem to get _them_ races off your mind.” Heyes stated, turning to look his pal straight in the face. “Can you?”

“Well, when will we _ever_ see something like that again?”

“I agree, Kid. But there is more to life than carnal delights.”

Curry’s brows bunched tight, “what?!”

Heyes’ smile expanded.

“There are times, Heyes, I feel like flattening you, for no other reason than it would feel good.”

Leaning closer, Heyes’ expression carried a distinct twist of mischief, “is that so?”

“Yeah, but I tell myself it’d just make you harder to put up with.”

The smile broke into a laugh, “Yes. Yes, that it would.” Laughing harder, he threw an arm about Curry’s shoulders, “come on, let me, buy you a drink, maybe more.”

They were on their third beers, backs against the gleaming mahogany bar watching the high kicking gals on stage, couples swirling on the dance floor, faro dealers running games, all of it seeming to keep time with the constant clatter of the Keno tumblers, the whirl of the roulette wheel and the steady patter of the poker tables.

“Know what, Heyes?”

“Hum.”

“You were right about one thing--”

Heyes turned unblinking eyes on his cousin, “only one?”

Curry quirked him a grin, “Wichita is a lively place.”

No sooner were these words out of his mouth than the boom of a gun cut through the room. A cancan gal screamed, clutched her middle, and collapsed to the floor, her tiered multi-colored skirt spraying out around her like a wilted flower.

In the sudden silence that filled the frozen room, the big-bore rifle, Joe snagged from under the bar sounded like a cannon when it went off. 

Near the front doors, a large man with long, curly red hair, and an even longer beard staggered and Rowdy Joe’s place turned into the Battle of Gettysburg. Blue cordite smoke filled every inch, rolling out the front doors and shattered windows just as rapidly as the thunder of gunfire; when as suddenly as it began, it was over.

Amazed he had not caught any lead, Curry looked to his partner. Who like himself, had his pistol in his hand. But, Heyes’ left hand was still grasping what remained of his beer mug, Curry’s eyes opened wider, “damn, that was close.”

Looking down, Heyes inhaled, his tongue darted across his lower lip, and he released his hold on the jagged, glass handle. “Let’s get out of here before the law shows up.”

This appeared to be the mindset of most everyone, for there was a bustling, groaning herd shoving their ways through the front doors; some even escaping through the shattered window panes.

The night air felt fresh and clean after the heat of Joe’s and a ways down the street, Heyes pulled up. Placing his hands atop Curry’s shoulders, he smiled, exhaled, took a deep breath, and exhaled again. “You ever think how fragile life is Kid?”

“Not really, Heyes.” Kid looked around and frowned.

“What if that bullet had found me instead of my mug?”

Curry’s frown deepened, he could feel through, and through, this was not a conversation he wanted to have.

 “Hey, Old Man!”

Curry jerked about to find a gangly boy with meatless shoulders, standing not ten feet away. He recognized him as the same one, who had challenged him last Saturday, that Heyes had run off. Now he was calling him out, a pistol hung from his narrow hips that looked too big for him. Kid’s pupils shrank, the muscles about his blue eyes tightening.

“Been watchin’ for ya, Old Man.”

“Well, here, I am.”

“Kid, no!”

The words, “back off,” emerged from Curry’s throat as a deep growl. The gunfighter side of him knew this was it. There would be no false start this time; the boy had hunted him down for a purpose. 

Billy’s cheek twitched and so did his hand.

Curry did not feel himself go for his Colt. There were too many hours of practice behind the move. It had become a part of him, no different from taking a stride. All he knew was he had won the race, yet again. Not that he was really thinking that, now, those thoughts always came later, along with the knowledge that one day he would not win the race. But, for now, he had.

An errant dart of flame blossomed from Billy’s pistol, even as he jerked back, drifting toward the ground.

Stalking forward, Curry retrieved the large Navy revolver from the out flung hand, sticking it in his waistband. He saw his shot had destroyed Billy’s shoulder. The boy’s white, twisted face spoke of the unyielding pain wracking through him.

Several of Billy’s pals rushed in.

Curry swung about and their hands flew up, all of them yipping, how they did not want any trouble.

“Then get ‘em to a Doc before he bleeds to death.”

Furtively, they gathered up their pal, shuffling on down the street.  

Once they were well on their way, Curry holstered his Colt, raising his sharp blue eyes to his own pal.

Heyes was ashen and like a tottering child, he stumbled. Releasing a convulsive sigh, his hand fell from his chest, revealing a spreading scarlet stain.

Curry’s mouth fell open. Sound, color, light spun away. Everything for him centered down on Heyes, who was falling. Falling backwards and Curry gasped, because in that moment, he could feel the rope that connected them pull so taunt, it felt near breaking. And, he knew Heyes was correct, life was fragile.

 

 


End file.
